She’s Lost Control chronicles a turning point in a sexual surrogate’s life as she tries to balance what she wants in her personal and professional life while living in Manhattan. Anja Marquardt’s debut film evokes a prosaic horror and a rising sense of tension while never stepping outside of reality. She evokes a Cronenberg sense of tension reminiscent of Denis Villeneuve’s Enemy in the way that she frames people within their urban surroundings while using a straightforward narrative to keep it rooted in reality. With or without her job, her life could have turned out the same way, which is what I appreciated the most about the film.
She’s Lost Control slowly punctures the idea of any person having a stable life. Ronah, the main character, is able to juggle her clients, work towards her future professional and future goals, but as the film slowly shows us more of her daily life, literally and metaphorically cracks spring up in predictable and unexpected places. We begin to realize that while she treats her client’s intimacy problems, she may suffer from them as well, but as a professional and a woman, the expectation is that she is fine and has become a focal point for men’s projections. Her mentor calmly cautions Ronah based on her own experiences that she may be taking on more than she can handle, but is not necessarily alarmed based on Ronah’s demeanor. Ronah’s attempts to connect are repeatedly and increasingly rejected by others. People’s hostility to Ronah seems unrelated to her actions or personality. When her reaction to these elevating stressors becomes possessive and obsessive, she reaches her breaking point and has to face reality. At this point in the movie, I began talking to my screen as if the film was a horror movie, which it is not, “No! Don’t go there! Run!” There is a sense of her world closing in on her, but what makes Ronah’s breaking point actually triumphant instead of defeatist is that she objectively knows what her options are, determines which ones are the best for her situation then still manages to reclaim some psychological power in the situation by showing others that she has the moral high ground to wreak havoc and seek justice, but chooses not to. By the end of the film, she has given up all illusions.
There is the implicit question of whether or not Ronah is being punished for her professional sexuality, and based on her relationship with her brother and neighbor, I would say no. Her profession amplifies her daily vulnerability, but many of the issues that Ronah has to confront could happen to any woman with a different profession, but her profession absolves her of the victim blaming that many women have to endure (you provoked him, you misled him, etc.) while simultaneously still making her vulnerable to it. Her almost violent and aggressive desire to believe that human conflict can be resolved like an equation is an admirable trait considering her studies, but one that she needs to release in order to live fully. The way that particularly men consistently breach her boundaries is not endemic to Ronah being a sex surrogate, but could happen to any woman in various contexts. Her super sitting by her door was the most startling and real moment in the film. He has no sexual interest in her, but even though they have a professional relationship, he has no respect for the terms of their contract. He will not hold up the end of his bargain by not making repairs and even violating the covenant of quiet enjoyment since she can’t enter her home without an expectation that he is lurking outside her door.
When Ronah finally begins to breach what is considered normal female behavior and takes on masculine hostile traits like stalking, while it is a sign of unhealthy mental deterioration, it ultimately is a normal human response to stressors. Even though she walks to the line, she does not cross it. By showing that she can, she claims a privilege that normally only men enjoy-intimidation and implicit threat though not violent. In the glare of the female gaze, he is powerless though physically stronger. Before this point, like her clients, she tries to use contracts to fulfill different functions that men would normally play in her life, and other than her mentor, she has no relationships with women-no friends or relatives. Because the men keep violating the contract, she stops playing the game and is finally ready to deal with the only real relationship with a man, her brother, which is a gateway to dealing with her only female blood relative, her mother and niece. By admitting her capacity for messiness, she can finally live a real life. While losing control is painful, since there was only the illusion of control, real is preferable.
She’s Lost Control was not well liked by viewers and critics. There is a point when a client says something that would make any woman run, but since she is a therapist, she chooses to stay so I suspect even though the film does not engage in victim blaming, most people are probably annoyed with her and dismiss her as stupid instead of understanding that every job has a professional challenge that could result in violence so while quitting is an option, it is a last resort. Possibly there is disdain for her profession as prostitution.
I also think that subconsciously, while the cast performs perfectly, every actor looks like a more famous actor so I think that it can distract people and make them wonder whom the actors look like instead of focusing on the movie. Brooke Bloom, who plays Ronah, looks a bit like Scandal’s Darby Stanchfield and someone else from another TV series. Marc Menchaca, who plays one of her clients, looks like a younger and thinner Supernatural’s Mark Pellegrino, whom, no offense, I prefer. Dennis Boutsikaris, who plays one of her colleagues who gives her assignments, resembles Blue Steel’s Ron Silver (RIP), but has his own illustrious career. Robert Longstreet, who has a small role as a client looks like a bigger and older Lost’s Henry Ian Cusick. Laila Robins, who plays her mentor, looks like The Office’s Melora Hardin.
Despite the subject matter, which naturally depicts sex, She’s Lost Control is a taut, not prurient, exploration of a character navigating a world that does not respect her boundaries, but expects a disproportionate amount of solicitude from her. If you don’t mind the deliberate pacing and are not automatically disgusted by the premise, definitely give it a shot.